Identity
by Rozozzy
Summary: Bella doesn't know who she is anymore. Perhaps she never did. (Strangetown Bella, Meta).


Her first memory is the desert, of cuts and gritty sand digging against her knees, of blood trickling down her forehead and coating the palms of her hands, of the cold night air sweeping across her skin. Her first memory is a cough, of ash dusting her cheeks and filling her lungs, of smoke billowing up into the air, the flaming wreckage surrounding her, warming the side of her face, illuminating the darkened sky. Her first memory is blinking open her eyes, of prying herself off the ground in a tattered dress and unkempt hair, slow, shaky, weak.

She whips her head around, neck craning as her eyes frantically scan the area, for someone—_anyone_—to offer solace, a hand, a sign that it's not just her, that it _can't be_ just her, that she isn't really out here in the middle-of-nowhere all by herself. She catches sight of a motionless, green arm crushed beneath a chunk of metal, and she turns away to vomit in both disgust and terror.

She doesn't know what happened to her.

She doesn't know where she is, or who she is, or what to do. But in a corner of the horizon she sees the glow of town lights, faint in the distance, and she has to squint a couple of times to convince herself that it is real.

All she can do is follow the lights.

And so she does, dragging her feet against the ground, leaving the fire behind her to flicker out on its own.

* * *

Her name is Bella Goth.

At least, that's what is engraved into the back of her necklace, the letters carved out in perfect script, the grooves sitting nicely against the gold-plated surface. She clutches the necklace tightly in her fingers, looking over the inscription over and over again until she memorizes every curve, every line, wiring every little detail into the framework of her mind. She clings to the necklace and closes her eyes, frowning as she tries so hard to see if anything clicks in her brain, if a light switch will turn on and suddenly everything will make sense.

But nothing does. She sighs in frustration.

_Bella Goth,_ the necklace says. She reads it again, repeating the name in her head like a mantra.

_Bella Goth._

The name means nothing to her.

She wears it anyway.

* * *

Strangetown is a collection of isolated geniuses, of seedy outcasts and sundry characters, and yet Bella can't seem to find a niche to wedge herself into. Even amongst the aliens, the mad scientists, the rumored serial killers, there doesn't seem to be a place for her in the place that people go to when they don't belong anywhere else.

So she decides to keep to herself, for the most part. She decides to be out of sight, away from prying eyes, not attracting any attention that isn't necessary. Not like she cares for it anyway.

But hiding away in itself rouses intrigue, inadvertently painting a portrait of Bella, one of mystery, of secrecy, of an unattainable, elusive beauty. Soon she finds her name shared among whispers in the street, becoming interwoven into Strangetown's hybrid of mythos. Soon she finds that _Bella Goth_ is no longer just a person. She's a folk tale, a legend, an icon—as crucial to Strangetown's social fabric as any other person ingrained into its eccentric culture.

Rumors begin to build around her, rumors that, if asked, she wouldn't know the real answers to. But Bella lets these rumors continue to build, lets these rumors shape her history, lets them define everyone's perception of her legacy.

She doesn't mind. She doesn't have a backstory anyway. She is a blank slate, an empty shell, worth nothing before she came here and worth something because of where she is now.

Bella takes the persona the public has forged for her. She convinces people that she is the mythical woman everyone believes her to be, transforming her image into somewhat of a celebrity, a rare gem amidst the townspeople.

To them, it's a gimmick.

To her, it's a gift.

* * *

Most nights, Bella turns to the stars.

Perhaps there is something written there for her in the sky; perhaps there is something shining out in the distance that can guide her to where she is supposed to be, just as the lights of Strangetown had navigated her to safety on that cold, lonesome night. But Bella knows that the stars she watches are made of dying light, so perhaps the stars are false prophets, leading her astray.

Bella doesn't know if the stars are good or evil. The thought of the stars being her enemy—of them tricking her, misleading her—is terrifying.

But perhaps they are neither good nor evil. Perhaps the stars aren't meant to be anything.

Perhaps they simply _are._

For some reason, that terrifies Bella even more.

* * *

Flashes.

Little shards of memories flicker in Bella's dreams, of people she hasn't officially met, and yet she somehow knows.

She sees the faces of the dead buried beneath Olive Specter's garden, sees the face of Death himself with two hula dancers by his side, swaying their hips and moving in sync. She sees Johnny and Jill Smith—both people she has seen about the town but has never held a conversation with before in her life. She sees a Nervous Subject that isn't the same as the one she's seen in person, sees a therapist with thick glasses rubbing his chin pensively, sees Vidcund Curious peering through his telescope in the middle of the night.

Bella doesn't know _how _she knows these people.

All she knows is that she does.

* * *

Bella doesn't usually listen to the stories about her. She doesn't usually pay attention to the words, of what is being said, of what it all could mean. All she knows—all that matters—is that people view her as an enigmatic seductress, a staple of Strangetown history.

But curiosity gets the best of her. It finally breaks her illusion, shattering the glass that separates who she really is and who she is trying to be.

Who Bella really is, she doesn't know. But according to everyone else and confirmed with a quick online search, she is technically a missing person.

A missing person who belongs in Pleasantview.

* * *

She doesn't think if she is only gone for a week that anyone would notice. Bella hardly makes a public appearance as it is, and no one knows where she really lives to be checking up on her. If anything, leaving town only adds to her mystery. And if she never came back, it would add to it even more.

She doesn't know what she expects to uncover. She doesn't know what she hopes to gain from a place she doesn't remember, from people who may remember her even though she will certainly not remember them. But maybe, just maybe, she can dig up some truth about her past.

Maybe, just maybe, she'll find out who she is supposed to be.

* * *

Bella stands outside the gates of Goth Manor, hesitant and unwilling to break her frigid stance.

She cranes her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse through the window, but quickly retracts herself in fear of getting caught. After several deep breaths, she decides that she doesn't want to go through with all of this, and begins to pivot to walk away. Her hand lingers on the rim of the gate for a few seconds longer before finally releasing her grip.

The sound of footsteps on the sidewalk draw closer to her. Bella cants her head, watching as someone in the distance freezes midstep, green eyes piercing right through her like sharpened knives. This woman, tan and blonde, stares at her with her mouth agape, sheer panic taking over every muscle of her body.

"No," the blonde whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. "You can't—you're not supposed to be here! I thought you were gone for good!"

This woman's voice intensifies, her face constricting into both anger and fear. "You're too late," the blonde hisses matter-of-factly, but there's a quiver to the way the words roll off her tongue. "Mortimer's mine. We're married now."

Tears begin to trickle down the woman's face, teeth gritted, fists clenched tightly. "I've worked too hard to lose this!" she says, voice shrill and nearly cracking as she points an accusational finger. "You can't do this! You can't take this away from me!"

Then, the blonde's hands fiercely yank at Bella's necklace, nearly choking her as it pulls her so close to this woman that their noses are almost touching, so close that she can feel this woman's alcoholic breath on her face.

"You tell Mortimer the truth," the blonde begins in a low, dangerous growl, "and I'll make sure what happened to you happens again. I'm not losing this. If you take this away from me, Bella—I swear to god—"

"Please, I don't know you," Bella says shakily.

"Bitch, gimme a break," the blonde sneers. She yanks Bella closer. "You wouldn't be back here if you didn't really know anything. So just go back to whatever shithole the aliens dumped you off at. Stay the hell away from here. And stay the hell away from Don."

Bella blinks. "Don?"

The blonde releases her grip unexpectedly, causing Bella to tumble backwards. The woman then shoves Bella against the gate, almost causing her to topple over. Bella struggles to get onto her feet, but the blonde shoves her once more, this time to the ground, and this time with greater force. She then spits on Bella's cheek, capping it off with a hard kick to her face using the heel of her shoe.

"You don't belong here," the blonde says, hands on her hips, a wide grin perched upon her scornful lips. "Not anymore. So don't you ever think about coming back."

When Bella stumbles upright and hastily scampers off, she can hear the woman's mocking laughter echo in the distance, then again in her head, as if to follow her wherever she goes.

* * *

Don Lothario welcomes Bella with open arms.

A little too open, if you ask her.

Immediately upon seeing her weary eyes and disheveled hair, Don had ushered Bella in right away, offering anything and everything that she might need. The people in Strangetown had been friendly enough when they weren't gawking at her, but this degree of hospitality is suspicious, setting off warning sirens in the back of Bella's mind.

"Do you wanna use the shower?" Don asks, scooting up to Bella on the sofa and draping an arm around her shoulders. He raises his hand to Bella's cheek, cupping it gently. "Tell me what happened, baby. Who did this to you? Was it Dina?"

Bella removes Don's hand from her face and inches away from him until her hip hits the arm of the couch. "I—I don't know," she says quietly. "I don't know anyone here. I thought, maybe, you could help me."

Don slides closer to her. He takes her hand in his, planting a soft kiss on top and proceeding to rub gentle circles with the tip of his thumb. "Hey," he says, his voice all butter and silk. "It's gonna be okay, baby. We'll figure this out together, yeah?"

"I just want to know who I am. Where I come from. What kind of person I used to be." Bella releases a disheartened sigh, slipping her fingers away from Don's persistent grasp. "I just want answers."

Don nods along. "Mhmm. I hear you, baby. I hear you."

Bella swallows.

She doesn't know this man. She doesn't know who he was to Bella Goth of the past, doesn't know what kind of person he really is or what he is truly capable of. And yet she is trapped here with him in his home, alone, with no one who knows where she is, with no one who knows that she's gone.

Bella shakes down the fear that has been gripping her chest, and she asks the question that's been on her mind ever since she had stepped foot through his front door.

"Do you know what really happened to me?"

Don laughs, cocking his head.

"Not a clue."

* * *

Days later, Bella returns to Goth Manor.

Under the moonlight, blanketed by stars, Bella sneaks her way in through the back. Silently, stealthily, she hops over the wrought-iron fence, carefully trudging across the dewy grass. She steals fleeting glances through an open window and closes it just enough to leave a crack, waiting for the lights to shut off, waiting until the last person has ascended up the staircase for the night.

After a few minutes have passed, she slides the window fully open, climbing her way through and mindful not to alert anyone of her presence. Using the dim glow of a kitchen light, Bella wanders about the first floor aimlessly, unsure of what she is searching for, but hoping she can find it nonetheless.

She heads toward a bookshelf, tracing her fingers over the spines and stopping abruptly when she reaches a photo album. Bella tugs it out of the spot that its nestled in and finds a seat beside the dining room table. She sighs.

Bella sifts through the photo album, her likeness on every page, in almost every photo, smiling, happy, with a family she has apparently met but one she cannot seem to recall. She sifts through every page, hoping that these images will trigger her memories, then biting her lip and forcing herself not to cry when they do nothing except offer her a glimpse of a life she once lived, a life that does not belong to her anymore.

Then, something catches her eye.

The person in these photos—the Bella on each page that stares back at her with those smiling eyes—there is something off about her. Bella gently lifts a corner of the page to remove a photo, then proceeds to walk over to the bathroom mirror. She holds up the photo next to her face in a side-by-side comparison, squinting her eyes as she notices the obvious differences in facial structures between her and this Bella, this Other Bella.

It's strange. Everyone _thinks _she's Bella Goth. Even the people who knew the Other Bella.

But maybe she isn't Bella Goth.

Maybe she never was.

Because whoever this Other Bella is, _she _is not her.

Because whoever this Goth family is, _she_ is not a part of it. And she never will be.

She can't involve herself in this. She can't insert herself into a life she doesn't remember living, that she probably had never lived. It's not meant for her.

Dina was right.

She doesn't belong here.

Silent tears stream past her cheeks, and she hangs her head while dragging herself back to the dining room table. She is careful to slide the picture back into the corner where she had taken it, careful to wedge the photo album back between the same two books that had sandwiched it prior. Bella heads for the open window, but is halted immediately in her tracks when a soft male voice calls out to her from across the hall.

"Mom?"

Bella doesn't turn around. Instead she just slips through the window, not bothering to close it shut as she sprints towards the fence, not once looking back.

* * *

Some might say that going to Pleasantview was a bust, that it was meaningless, all for nothing, that it only made things more confusing and ambiguous than where she had initially left things off.

No.

Because for the first time in her entire life, Bella finally has some clarity.

Strangetown is where she belongs. It is her home, where others have elevated a name for herself, where she has seized that recognition in stride, parading it about town as if she owns every piece of ground that she takes foot of. Here in Strangetown, she knows that the idea of her carries more weight than her actual person. But she accepts that, has come to terms with that. Because the idea of Bella Goth is all she needs to simply _be._

It's true. Bella doesn't know who she is anymore. Perhaps she never did.

But it doesn't matter if she was anything before all of this. She may not have a past, but she has a present. She has a future. It doesn't matter who she used to be.

In the end, all that matters is who she chooses to be.

_Fin._


End file.
